Joan knocked quietly on the door. When there was no response from inside she pushed gently and slipped inside. It was a small room, dormlike, two single beds, two dressers, two desks. What made it different was that there were no decorations, no homey touches put there by doting moms. The other difference was that this room was immaculate, everything in place. As her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, she saw them cuddling together in Justin's bed, Lance spooned into his friend's back, his arms pulling Justin up close. She moved closer to the bed and looked at their faces one at a time. Justin looked like an angel: sweet pouty lips, clear smooth skin, long sweeping lashes that hid deep blue eyes, and golden curls that framed it all. Lance had an incredibly sweet face: transparent green eyes, pale unblemished skin, soft baby fine hair, and an irresistible smile. She sighed and reached out, shaking Lance's shoulder gently. At first, he simply shifted in his sleep, rubbing his face against Justin's back. But when Joan continued to shake him, his eyes opened slowly and he turned his head toward her. "Come on, Lance, your own bed," she whispered. She hated to do this to them but it was a Catholic institution and Sister Mary, the director, had been on her case recently to stop them from sleeping together. She heard the nun's stern voice reminding her of the Church's stand on homosexuality. Never mind that neither of them wanted to be there nor were they Catholic. None of that swayed her. She had simply instructed Joan to go to their room every night and separate them. It was ridiculous as she was fairly sure that Lance returned to his cozy space as soon as she was gone. Nevertheless, she didn't want to lose her job nor did she want them to be placed in different rooms, so she did as she was told and everyone pretended that they were not lovers. Lance knew the game so he disengaged himself as carefully as possible and slipped between his own sheets. Justin stirred but didn't wake up, his body knowing even in sleep that Lance would be back soon. Lance gave her his most innocent look and whispered, "Goodnight, Joan." She laughed quietly and ruffled his hair.  "Goodnight, honey." She closed the door tightly this time and walked slowly back to the rooms she used during the week, thinking about the two boys. They had been at St. Catherine's Home for Boys for five years. She had been there for ten and the primary reason she didn't throw her hands up and leave was those two boys. She felt responsible for them in some weird way. True, she was their social worker, but she knew it went well beyond that— friend, advocate, parent — and she couldn't leave them behind. Lance was already 17, so one more year and he would be officially discharged, left on his own most likely. Justin was only 15 and unless there was a miracle he was stuck here for three more years, two of them without Lance. She hated to think of that and so most of the time she didn't. She sighed once again and flopped heavily onto the couch and closed her eyes. Time went backwards to the day that Justin arrived. He had come first; Lance hadn't arrived until three months later. She and James sat in her office. James was her supervisor but he was also her friend. Joan's husband had died six years earlier and she had been left to raise two teenage children. She had taken the job at St. Catherine's because it was nearby and they were willing to be flexible about her hours. She had discovered why pretty quickly. The place was a nightmare. "HOME" was the most laughable part. It in no way resembled a home. It was, in fact, more like a prison. The residents were boys from 7-18 who had been sent by the courts or abandoned by parents who no longer wanted the job and could afford the fees to keep the boys there. They were a motley group. There were a hundred boys at any given time which in itself was a cause for alarm. Add the disparity in ages and stir in some fear and rage and the recipe for disaster was perfect. And disaster it was. Fights, bullying, sex, lies, torture, you name it. And it wasn't just the boys. The staff, the "monitors", were the perpetrators also. Some of the monitors got a sadistic pleasure from watching the boys cower in fear. Every rule, and there were many, was strictly enforced. Rooms were cleaned constantly. Common areas were rotated and cleaned daily as well. There was to be no cursing, backtalk, or refusal. Infractions were punished swiftly and harshly. Prayer was encouraged and they were all rounded up once a day for Mass. It would seem like an ideal environment to raise children who would be well behaved. It wasn't— it was a breeding ground for hatred which they took out routinely on those unable to defend themselves. Trying to stay on top of it all was a full time job. Never mind that the goal was to provide counseling as well. There were four of them and caseloads were beyond bearable. But every time Joan thought of quitting, another helpless little boy walked in the door and her heart strings were tugged yet again. She had even been crazy enough to consider moving into a suite of rooms here once her children moved out permanently.  Then she would hear their cries twenty four seven. She and James had actually been discussing that possibility when Justin's arrival had been announced. She stared at James. "You really want me to take on another kid?" "You're good, Joan. Besides he's a hard luck case, right up your alley." "Great! Another little heartstringer! Fine," she said more resigned than annoyed and pushed back her chair to go meet the Harlesses. ~3~ The entry hall was large, dwarfing anyone in it.  Joan saw the two of them standing there uncertain what to do next. Father and son, though she didn't see much of a resemblance. Her trained eye took in the details. The child looked terrified and sad at the same time. His eyes were teary and he glanced furtively at the older man when he thought he wouldn't be noticed. He held a small Mickey Mouse suitcase in one hand and a basketball in the other. He was adorable, all gangly arms and legs, unruly blond curls, and a sweet face— the kind of kid you want to hug and keep safe. The father, or whatever he was, looked angry and was clearly impatient, obviously anxious to be rid of his burden. "Mr. Harless," she said shaking his hand. He nodded and pulled away. Then she knelt down, "And you must be Justin." He put down his suitcase and tried to shift his ball but it came loose and bounced away. He froze and cast a quick look at the older man, fear coming off him in waves. Paul Harless hissed, "Pick it up!" Justin scurried to comply, never looking up, clearly afraid of what he would find. Joan watched Paul's face which was a mask of rage. No wonder the child was frightened. Ball in hand at last, Justin shook her hand solemnly, his small body trembling and then stared at the floor, biting his lip, waiting for Paul's next words. "It will be OK," she whispered, hoping that for once it wasn't a lie. Moving the group toward her office, she stopped at the vending machine, and asked, "Soda?"  It was clear Justin wanted one but he remained silent even when she said it was all right. She had seen the slight negative shake from his father. Shrugging, she settled Justin with her secretary and ushered the man into a chair by her desk. James had left a thin file for her and she scanned it as she sat down. Great — another reject. Stepfather who didn't like the kid so they invented tales of his terrible deeds and packed him up and brought him here. "Well, Mr. Harless, why do you think Justin belongs here?" Joan began. Paul Harless seemed surprised at the question. "Um, he's ...he's just.... a bad kid." "What does he do?" Joan asked genuinely confused. She couldn't reconcile the little boy she had just met with the bad boy Paul Harless seemed to know. Paul Harless seemed at a loss for words. "Do? Lots of things— fights, lies, breaks things, you know...." he trailed off. He didn't like being on the defensive. "Anyhow," he began in a belligerent tone, " Sister Mary said as long as I was willing to pay the fees, you'd take him. So, is that true?" Joan sighed, probably the millionth since starting here, "Yes, it's true. But it's painful for a child to end up here even for a very good reason." "Well, it is. Take my word for it," he stated bluntly. Joan knew a losing battle when she was in one and shrugged, "Well then, there are papers to sign. Let me get them from my secretary." As she opened the door, she heard tinkling laughter, and she was more grateful than ever to Mary. At the sound of the door, the laughter abruptly stopped and Justin's face closed into a look of fear and anxiety. "Mary, I need a set of admission papers for Mr. Harless. While Mary was getting them, Joan stooped and stroked the curly head, "It will be OK, Justin." His trembling lips and watery eyes told her that he knew that was a lie. Paul Harless filled out all of the forms and practically threw them at her, "Anything else besides the check?" "Just a few questions. Does Justin have any special needs that you'd like to discuss with me?" Paul laughed harshly, "Just a good beating once a day." When Joan frowned, he amended his words, "No, he's OK. Hardly ever sick. He's lazy so you gotta be on top of him all the time. That's it, I guess." Joan nodded. "Will you or other family members be visiting?" He hesitated and she continued, "Please don't lie. It's worse for him if he thinks you're coming than if he knows you're not." For once the man had the grace to look embarrassed, "We probably won't be coming." In a voice edged with steel, Joan said, "He will be going home for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and two weeks in the summer, right?" "I...I guess...so," Paul stuttered before regaining his composure, "I'll let you know. There are kids that don't go home, aren't there?" Joan refused to answer. She stood up and ended the interview. He followed her to the door. Her heart broke when she saw the tiny face so hurt, so alone. His legs dangled off the couch and he sat with his hands folded in his lap. Waiting. When he saw Paul come out, he slid off and stood up. Waiting. Paul stopped in front of him and looked down, "Goodbye, Justin." Tears were streaming down Justin's face and he was hiccuping, no words possible. He held out his arms, but Paul simply turned away and left. Joan watched the scene in horror. It was Mary's "Oh my God" that finally startled her into action. Scooping the child into her arms, Joan sat on the couch with him as the sobs wracked him and the tears soaked her shirt. When he finally subsided into hitching breaths, she rocked him until he was asleep. Carrying him into her office, she placed him on the couch and gently covered him. She sat at her desk, attempting to catch up on the endless paperwork but she couldn't concentrate. Finally she threw her pen down and sat back. How much pain did these children have to endure and why? Justin was sleeping peacefully for the moment, his thumb in his mouth. What possessed his parents to simply deposit him here as if he were an unwanted pet? How could his stepfather not respond to the plea for one hug? Why wouldn't they visit or let him come home? The behavior she had witnessed was so monstrous she felt rage welling up in her. The rage was what kept her here. A constructive outlet for it, a place where she could nurture these wounded boys and perhaps make up in some infinitesimal way for all the hurt inside them. And now there was another little person to fit into her heart. She thought of her own children, almost grown now, and how much she loved them and wanted to protect them even now from any hurt. She sighed and closed her eyes. She opened them when she heard a small voice calling her name. She smiled at the child who was huddled on the sofa and went to sit next to him, putting her arm around him. "Feel a little better?" Justin nodded but she knew he was just trying to make her happy. His eyes still had that mixture of sadness and terror. In this place, it would be a long time before it went away, if ever. "Talk to me, Justin." "What about?" "What you're thinking. Say whatever you want. It's OK." He frowned, not sure if this was a trap or not, but she seemed so nice, like a good Mommy. He decided to take a chance. "I don't want to be here. I want to be a good boy so I can go home. I'm not sure how to be a good boy. I try, I really do but  I never do it right," he finished in a rush. Joan hugged him. "You'll be OK. I'll help you to be a good boy even though I think you're a good boy already. You've been good so far." "But I...dropped the ball," Justin offered. "That's not good or bad, Justin, that's an accident. Accidents happen." Justin frowned again, "Paul says it's `cause I'm stupid and careless." "You don't seem stupid and careless to me so how about we don't say those mean things about you?" He managed a small smile. Then he snuggled down into her lap. "You're nice." She smoothed his curls and let him stay for a few minutes. Then she said, "Listen, sweetie, I need to get you settled in your room before dinner. OK?" continue menu